Tale of a Gold-Tipped Cane
by Ki1
Summary: Have you ever wondered where Spot got his cane? Here's my theory, among other things.
1. Default Chapter

Author Notes: BLAHH!!! This is my first Newsies fic, and the prologue is bad... The first chapter is good, though... ::sweatdrop:: I hope..... da....  
  
  
The Tale of a Gold-Tipped Cane  
Prologue  
by Ki Knotts  
  
~New York City, New York, USA, 1899~  
  
"SPOT!"  
  
The young man in question raised his face to Drop, the child whose golden eyes were clouded by the dust kicked up by pairs of boots. "Stop yellin', will ya? Ya gunna..."  
  
Oscar Delancey shadowed the pair of boys; his evil sneer implied the nature of his action. Thick black locks peeked under the bowler, and a black vest covered a fuchsia shirt. "Say nighty-night, Spotty." He pulled his leg back threateningly, and Spot, waiting in a livid stun, shut his eyes.  
  
"No!" The minute body of Drop, the newest of the Brooklyn newsies, blocked Oscar's aim. A deafening whop sounded as Oscar's shoe connected with his ribs.  
  
Smokey-blue eyes widened at the horrible yelp. "Ya kicked a kid! Ya bum! Wheah's ya 'onah?" Spot struggled to his feet, fingers curling instinctively around the gold-tipped cane on his belt-loop.  
  
"Wada ya gonna do about it, Spotty?" The foe grinned devilishly and motioned for him to come forward.  
  
Spot had always been an obliging boy.  
  
  
  
"Case 09781!"   
  
Drop hung his head in shame, while Spot cracked a comment about the number of his case. Oscar glared at him under his bowler, then jumped as the judge cleared his throat. The audience, consisting of Jack Kelly and Davey Jacobs, both respectable Manhattan newsies; and Ink, Spot's trusted right-hand man; smirked at Oscar's rebuke. Men and women crowded behind the gates of the courtroom.  
  
"Mr. Conlon, Mr. Delancey, Mr. Swenson." the judge gave each boy a reproving look as his name was spoken. "You have all been charged with assault of a minor."  
  
Spot opened his mouth, staring at the man. "Oscar ain't no miner! He's a scabber!"  
  
A few loud snickers washed over the room, bringing the judge to silence them. "No, young man. I meant minor, as in underage."  
  
"Oh."   
  
"Do you deny these charges?"  
  
"How much would it cost?" Spot's eyes twinkled with an rascally grin, a trademark of the Brooklyn leader.  
  
Glare. "I meant... oh, forget it."  
  
"Listen, mister, you lost me a long way back."  
  
"I sentence you each to a year of hard labor, or a fine of three dollars and seventy-five cents." Again the judge raised his gavel to signify the end of the case, but Spot shouted:  
  
"This is an obstruction of justice!!"  
  
It received a stare. "How would tha-"  
  
"Judge, wait!" a young lady shoved through the gates and past the bailiff. "I'm here to speak for Mr. Conlon and Mr. Swenson."  
  
Her auburn hair was piled high under a flowered pin, and she lifted the hem of her skirt as she raced toward the front of the courtroom, giving the whole room a good view of her wine-red petticoats. It was obvious she was genteel, for her dress and speech were as refined as they possibly could be. The judge laid his gavel across the wooden panel in front of him, surprised.   
  
"May I ask your name, miss?" he questioned as he leaned forward.   
  
She sighed and shook her head. "It isn't necessary, sir. Just know that I saw the squabble between these three, and I know that Mr. Conlon's actions were in self-defense. Mr. Delancey is the only one in the wrong." then she opened her coin purse and shuffled through it. "But if you still wish to punish them, I'll pay their fines."  
  
The judge turned to look down at Spot. "Is this true, young man?"  
  
The Brooklyn leader nodded slowly then smiled. "Absolutely, judgie."  
  
"Then I see no reason to fine you or Mr. Swenson. However..." the judge's gaze fell to Oscar.  
  
"I'll pay his fine." the girl cut in. "How much was it?"  
  
Oscar lifted his chin. "I'll pay me own fine."  
  
"You will do no such thing." she replied, sliding three dollars and seventy-five cents forward toward the judge. "Thank you, your Honor." As the bailiff let the three newsies out of the box, the judge spoke again.  
  
"You would, of course, be so kind as to escort these three home, to make sure they don't row anymore?"  
  
She nodded and turned back toward the exit. "Come along."  
  
Spot started to follow, then narrowed his eyes. "I know you..."  
  


~*END PROLOGUE*~  


  
  
  
  
  



	2. Part 1

The Tale of A Gold-Tipped Cane  
Part One  
by Ki Knotts  
  
~Ferry Run, Ireland, February 21, 1889~  
  
"Nihao...je m'appelle sandwich au fromage?"   
  
Bram Conlon looked up from Great Expectations. His mind processed the mangled pronunciations of the words, and then he frowned. The man had just said hello in Chinese, and "I am called cheese sandwich" in French. Smokey-blue eyes flew across the nineteenth pier to see the speaker.  
  
"...Yoroshiku? Yagi no hoshi? Uhm... el mono estupido...?" this produced a wave of hysterical laughter throughout pier twenty.   
  
Great Expectations was laid across a post on the planks, and Bram rose to rescue the strange, monolingual creature. "Pardon me, sir!" he called in his Dublin vernacular as he reached a generously proportioned gentleman.   
  
The man looked up from his frantic thinking, ocean-green eyes widening. "You speak English!" he cried in ultimate relief. His thick, upper-class accent marked him as of the genteel of Scotland, and a gold-tipped walking cane was gripped feverishly in his hand. "I've been at this for hours! Thank God!"  
  
Bram bowed his head respectfully, sweeping the tattered hat off darkish locks. "Bram Conlon, sir, at your service. What can I do for you?"  
  
A pale hand grabbed Bram's, and the gentleman smiled gratefully, almost feverishly. "I've been trying to find my boat since this morning! Could you possibly tell me where it would be?"  
  
"What would the name be, sir?"  
  
"The Silent Cry." The other replied with a puckered brow. "Rather morbid name for a boat... I'm Charles Wemmick by the way. I had no idea it was so hard to find someone who spoke English here."  
  
"Pleasure to meet you, sir. Ferry Run is a genuine port city. Not many Irishmen in these parts." Bram shook the extended palm, and they exchanged a cordial smile. "It shan't be too hard to find your boat, considering it's where I'm headed as well."  
  
"Going to America, then, lad?" Charles smiled, rubbing the tip of the cane with his thumb. "Are you one of those reckless lads off to find adventure in the gold mines of California?"  
  
"No, sir!" Bram laughed softly, and bowed his head again, starting toward The Silent Cry. "A new life's in store for me." he gave a gentle smile, glancing toward the sea. "My younger brother and I are starting over in New York City. I plan to get a job and support us. I heard there's a lot of opportunities there."  
  
Charles raised his eyebrows and approached the boat. "Really now? I might be able to help you with that, my lad, as a substitute for this glorious rescue you've bestowed upon me." he reached into his breast pocket and drew out of it a card. "I'm the younger partner of Wemmick and Wemmick Firm. Do you know how to read, son?"  
  
Bram took the card in surprise, eyes round. "Yes, sir, I do."  
  
"How's your arithmetic?"   
  
"Fairly good, sir." It took great strength for the young man not to gape.   
  
Charles cracked a huge grin. "Well, then, son, when we get to New York, I shall make great efforts to get you a job at my firm. I believe you'll do well in a position such as the one I'm offering. How's that sound to you?"  
  
"Anything's good for me, sir! I'll shine your shoes if it'll pay for lil' Adair's dinner." Bram turned to him, then caught a glance of a young girl perched on the gangplanks of the ship.  
  
"Elena!" Charles gasped. "How did you get here?"  
  
The young girl gave him a knowing smile, her jade eyes glinting with some comprehension that she cared not to share. "I asked the nice man with the fuzzy hat."  
  
Charles and Bram both stared at her, shocked. A man came up behind her with, sure enough, a fuzzy cap made of fox fur. He looked quite oriental.  
  
"But..." Charles murmured. "How long have you been at the ship?"  
  
"Four hours." she stated, standing. A chest was hidden beneath her skirt. "You ran off asking some man about fish from Afghanistan, so I thought I'd just go on to the ship without you." She shook twin buns of thick ginger hair, and then she dusted off her dress. "I'm sorry I left without you, but you seemed quite upset over the man's answer about the fish, so I thought you might need some time alone."  
  
Bram chuckled, then turned to the fuzzy-capped man. "Eh, anato no kokuseki wa nan desu ka?"  
  
With that, the creature rambled off in a foreign tongue. Elena nodded sagely.  
  
"He says he doesn't speak Japanese, sir, but that he is quite Thai."  
  
Charles wiped his face with a handkerchief. "Where did you learn Thai, Elena?" she laughed.  
  
"Silly Papa!" was her only reply. Then her attention turned to Bram, who respectfully removed his hat and bowed. "Hello, sir. Who are you?"  
  
"Bram Conlon, who is quite honored to be in the presence of such a courteous bounce as yourself, miss."   
  
Her cheeks blossomed with red, and she hid it with a duck of her head. "I'm Elena Wemmick, Mr. Conlon. It's a pleasure to meet you, too." she held out her hand, then pursed her lips. "Wait a minute... Conlon?"  
  
Bram was halfway to shaking her hand. "Uhm, yes, miss. Conlon."  
  
She scratched the back of her head, and jerked her finger at him. "You're the rude boy's brother, aren't you?"  
  
Charles sucked in his breath, rushing to gather his daughter. "Elena, come along, don't daw-"  
  
"It's quite all right, Mr. Wemmick. Really." Bram laughed, and knelt next to the child. "So, you've met my Adair, I take it?"  
  
As she shoved out of Charles's arms, Elena nodded with a scoff. "He called me an octopus."  
  
Both men laughed.  
***  
  
Quietly Elena took in her surroundings. This ship was unfamiliar, with its loud character and even louder passengers. Sliding her plate of questionable dinner onto the railing outside the dining room, she used the fork to scratch her initials onto the paint. Curious jade eyes peered over the side into the black water below, then above to the blacker sky. Then a marble shot through her line of vision and knocked her fork off the side of the ship.  
  
"Ah, it's Octopus!"  
  
She could feel her hackles rising slowly at that sound. "Go away, I've no intention of associating with someone as rude as you."  
  
A head of brownish-blonde hair jerked in front of her, and she was suddenly looking into the eyes of a six-year-old boy. "Octopus."  
  
"I find it hard to believe that your entire vocabulary revolves around octopi." Elena retorted, flipping away.  
  
He perked up, face full of her dinner. "Octopi?" he muttered around a piece of chicken. "What's that mean?" his right hand tucked the slingshot into his back pocket as he reached for another bite of food.  
  
A Dublin accent, to be sure, Elena mused. "More than one octopus would be 'octopi.' Like celli or hippopotami." her tone was quite condescending, and she wrenched her plate out of Adair's grasp. "And this is my dinner, I'll remind you."  
  
"I didn't forget. Why'd you get the nasty grub? There was all sorts a' tasties in there."  
  
The returning question of "tasties" had just faintly rolled off her tongue when Adair kept going.  
  
"Pie, meringue, chocolate pudding, squid-"  
  
"Squid?!" she made a face.  
  
He nodded as if it were a stupid question. "Course. Aincha ever had squid before?"  
  
Elena turned from him with a roll of her eyes. "Can't say that I found it necessary, to be truthful. One could live her life without the taste of squid."  
  
"Ah, if that's tha case, I'll go getcha some. Be right back!"  
  
When she turned around, he was gone, and Bram was in his place. "Good evenin', little bounce." he removed his hat and stood next to her, a smile on her dinner. "You seen Adair?"  
  
She bobbed her head crossly. "He went to get me some... squid."   
  
"Ah, that boy grew up on seafood. You'll get used to it."  
  
By that time, Adair had returned, bearing a plate of squid up to his little nose. "Ya gotta eat tha entir--- Oh, hiya, Bram!" Bram gave his younger brother a soft pat, and the plate connected with Elena's hands.   
  
"Thank you, Adair." Elena murmured with a scornful glance down at the peering eyes of the squid. "It looks...lovely."  
  
"Tasty." the young Irish boy corrected her swiftly. "Try some, it's good."  
  
Picking up a piece with a grimace, she placed it to her lips. Bram and Adair both waited, one curious, the other expectant. Then she ran to the railing and vomited over the side of the ship.  
***  
  
"I can see the Statue of Liberty!" Adair cried, pointing out a tiny dot on the horizon. Elena rushed up next to him quickly, leaning to get a better look.   
  
"Wow! It's so pretty!" her voice was an excited whisper, much like the sound of the waves at the bow of the boat. She felt Bram's presence as he came to stand next to Adair as well.   
  
"That's the symbol of our new life, m'boy. America." he also was in an awed murmur.  
  
"America..." Elena and Adair both sighed with pleasure, letting the name roll off their tongues.   
  
"How long till we dock, Bram?" Adair asked after recovering, not removing his eyes from the bluish-gray speck.  
  
Bram pursed his lips and thought hard. "Probably by tomorrow morning. Then you two can start over as lady and gentleman of America."  
  
"Of New York City." Elena added. "When we get there, you'll visit Papa and me, right, Bram?"  
  
Adair looked a little alarmed. He'd finally been able to get along with the Wemmick girl after their two-week journey, and he'd even become slightly fond of her.   
  
"Of course we will, bounce! Actually, your father's offered me a job at his firm, so we'll probably see each other every day!" Bram smiled and gave the girl's ginger hair a brotherly ruffle. "Don't you worry about it, all right?"  
  
"All right." Elena answered with relief. She smiled at Adair. "Looks like you aren't getting rid of me, then, 'Dair."   
  
"And you're gonna be stuck eatin' octopeyes for a long time." Adair retorted with a smile.  
***  
  
A pair of brilliant jade eyes opened quickly at the sound of chaos. Elena sat up on her bunk and smoothed her skirts around her, frowning. Outside she could hear the voices screaming:  
  
"He's gone!"  
  
Beside her was a pale, white hand, and on the floor was the thick red of blood. The eerie presence of death was upon her, and she screamed.   
  
Charles Wemmick was dead.  
***  
  
Bram shook his brother awake frantically. "Adair! Get up, please! Get up!" As the boy's eyes opened slowly to consciousness, Bram grabbed him up off the cot.  
  
"What's going on, Bram?" Adair asked in a muzzy voice as he was set on his feet next to the bed and Bram began to dress him. The base shifted underneath him. "Why's the floor rocking?"  
  
His brother didn't look up from lacing Adair's shoes. "The ship's sinking, Adair. I have to find Mr. Wemmick and Elena. I want you to go up to the deck and wait for me there, do you understand?"  
  
The little child's eyes grew large with comprehension. "We're... we're going to die?"  
  
"No, not if I can help it. You will survive, Adair. I promise." Bram had finished the last button on his shirt, then he shoved him to the door with a pat on his rear. "Now go to the deck. I'll be up with Elena and Mr. Wemmick as soon as possible."  
  
Adair ran. Faster than he ever thought possible. The ship was going down.   
***  
  
The elder Conlon kicked the door to the Wemmicks' cabin open with full force, frenzied. Leaning into the doorway and peering within, his breath drew into his chest. "Mr. Wemmick!!"  
  
Three swift strides brought him into the cabin and to Charles' side. Bram's smoky-blue eyes were huge with horror. "Who..."  
  
"He's dead, isn't he?"  
  
This surprised Bram, and he pivoted quickly to catch the speaker. Elena was pressed against a wall farthest from the body of her father, jade eyes glowing in the darkness, skin pale and damp. She spoke slowly in a soft, awed tone. "Why is he dead?"  
  
"Elena, who did this?!" he questioned fiercely. The body of his friend had already gone cold. "You must tell me!"  
  
"I don't know..." then her eyes shut, and her breath quickened. "His blood is on my feet!! Get it off!!"  
  
She's going insane, Bram realized with a gasp. He stepped over the body and approached the shivering girl. "Elena, come. We must get out of here."  
  
"But, Papa!!" Elena lunged at her father, but Bram caught her in his huge arms. "I can't leave him here all alone!! He'll be sad!"  
  
"Elena, he's still with you! Now come!" Bram lifted her from her bloodstained feet and started toward the door. Then she fell limp in comatose sleep. "Poor, brave lil' bounce..."  
***  
  
The deck was completely silent as Adair looked around. No lifeboats were still on the ship, no people, and no anything but the silent creaking as the boat began to rock again, wildly.   
  
A growing tension filled the air, and Adair could feel it. The whole boat was about to turn on its side. Again the smoky-blue eyes searched the deck for anything to save him. Then they rested on a gold glint protruding over one of the life vest boxes. "Mr. Wemmick's cane..."   
  
He had only his intelligence and the cane now, and he knew what he had to do. Racing toward the higher side of the ship, he laced the cane through the railing and, pulling it across the bars, gripped it fiercely. The Silent Cry leaned more and more, and soon Adair's feet were dangling over the ocean as the entire left side began to descend into the water.  
***  
  
With the girl's tiny form slung over his shoulder, Bram eased through the ship's belly. He could feel Elena slipping in and out of reality by the sudden, brusque jerks she gave. He could also feel the wind of defeat as the ship wheezed -painfully, it seemed- at each rumble. The left of The Silent Cry was beginning to tip, and objects rolled across the floor to crash into the walls.   
  
It'll go under soon, Bram cursed, his brow furrowed. He broke into a swift jog to reach the deck of the ship.   
  
"Bram!" Adair cried from his hanging position. "Bram, I'm stuck!"  
  
"Okay, Adair, just hold on!!" Bram, growing turbulent, braced his body in the doorframe of the entrance to the hull. Now all they could do was wait.  
  
And the fall came. Adair plunged into icy water, the needles that pierced him from every angle, on every inch of his body. The pain overwhelmed him, and he went numb as he heard the horrified cry: "ADAIR, SWIM!!!"   
  
Six-year-olds, although small in form, have incredible strength and endurance.   
  
Adair emerged into the blackness of the night sky and hunted for any sign of his brother or Elena. "Bram?" His eyes scanned the surface of the ebony sea, splashing madly to signal his appearance into the world of air. "Bram!! Where are you?!"  
  
A great gasp sounded behind him, a noise in closeness of an inward shriek for air. Bram pushed through the water and into the sky. "Adair! Are you all right, m'boy?" A deep gash was in the elder Conlon's forehead, and he held the little body of Elena close to him.   
  
"I'm fine." Adair answered dumbly, and realized he too held a Wemmick legacy. The cane that, in a way, had saved his life was still in his firmly curled fingers. "What happened to your forehead, Bram? And is she alive?" the cane was jabbed with force into Adair's belt loop.   
  
"She's fine, breathing and everything." Bram touched his wound gingerly and winced. "I must've hit my head on..." he faded out for a moment, falling backward just barely. "...On the railing when we fell, is all."   
  
The six-year-old bowed his head with uncertainty. "All right." he took hold of Elena's hand and stared at the clasped fingers. Both were pale and blue from the cold of the water. "Bram? How far are we to land?"  
  
"Not far. Far enough to swim, but you're too weak." Bram replied absently. His hand reached out and connected with a deck chair from the ship. "Ha!" He rested Elena's arms on the chair. "Make sure she doesn't slip out."   
  
Adair nodded slowly and held Elena's wrist against the armrest. "What now?"  
  
"We live."  
***  
  
Elena's eyes opened little by little, and she peered torpidly at her surroundings. Behind her was the endless ocean of black, and above her was the even more endless sky. But in front of her was a huge gray mound that rose above the waves. She frowned, glancing down at her wrist. Adair was asleep over her arm, snoring faintly, and Bram, who held her to the chair she'd been placed in, was in some sort of dance between death and sleep. The abrasion on his forehead looked ugly. "Bram..." he didn't move, so she pulled her wrist out of Adair's grasp and shook the elder's shoulder. "Bram, get up."  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, and they were misted with pain. "Elena? You're awake?" even his voice was weak.  
  
"Bram... there's something over there." Elena pointed at it with a trembling finger. "Is it... a monster?"  
  
"A monster?" This was said with a feeble laugh. "No, Elena. It's land. That's New York."   
  
Adair started awake, eyes murky. "What about New York?" he asked with one eye open.   
  
Elena nodded to where she had been pointing. "That's New York."  
  
Bram watched the pair with a smile that quickly faded into a scowl of pain. "Do you two think you could swim over there?" Adair yawned and sized up the distance.  
  
"I can." he announced without falter.  
  
Elena replied soon after Adair. "Me, too. Can you, Bram?"  
  
"Of course. It isn't far, only a few feet." Bram wiped at his gash, then stared down at the blood on his fingertips. "Well, start swimming."  
  
As Bram had predicted, they crawled up pathetically onto the grayish dirt of land. Bram collapsed onto it in a wheeze of ache and fatigue. Adair and Elena pulled up next to him and stared down like confused sheep.  
  
"Bram?" Adair asked softly. "Are you going to be all right?"  
  
His brother nodded with a loving smile. "Yes, Adair, I just need to sleep."  
  
Elena pulled her coat off and balled it up, placing it gently under Bram's head. "Does your head hurt a lot, Bram?"  
  
"No, sweet bounce, I can barely feel it." this was not entirely a lie. The pain was growing numb, a sign of something worse. "But I have something to say to you both before I sleep." The children concurred obediently. "Adair, I love you so much. You've made me proud." Bram slipped a hand to his throat and pulled a thin chain of silver off of his neck. At the end was a skeleton key. "This key will open many doors, Adair, but only the ones you need it to. I was going to wait until you could at least shave, but..." he held it out and smiled when Adair's fingers clasped around it. "It's the key to your new life. Remember that." Bram then turned his attention to Elena, who seemed to understand the situation in its entirety. "Bounce, I want you to take care of Adair while I'm asleep. Watch him, you're smarter than he is." Smiling morosely, Elena bobbed her head. "Good girl. He needs someone like you to make sure he doesn't act as wild as he does." his eyes flickered for a moment. "All right, I want both of you to sleep for a while. It'll do you and me some good."  
  
Again they did as they were told, more out of exhaustion than compliance. They did not hear Bram's final words. "Life is only the few moments before death."  
***  
  
When Elena awoke, it was to the sound of crying. "He's dead, too." she said to the air.  
  
"You knew, didn't you?!" Adair accused over Bram's body. "You knew he was dying!"  
  
Elena winced at the contempt in her friend's tone. "Of course I knew."  
  
"It was your fault!"  
  
"It was." Elena bowed her head and stared at the gravely sand beneath her.   
  
Adair stared at her in horror. "You don't care that my brother is dead?!" he stood up and pulled the cane out of his belt loop. "I'll beat you senseless!"  
  
"It's no use, Adair." she turned her face to the dawn above. "Hurting me won't bring him back. Stop crying about it, for you'll resent it later."  
  
"Well, you can talk!" the boy sobbed. "He wasn't your brother!"  
  
"My father's dead, and I didn't moan about it like a ninny!"  
  
Adair collapsed backward in bewildered cries and carried on for a good while. Elena waited patiently for him to stop.   
  
"Are you quite finished now?" she asked when he grew silent.   
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, he snapped. "Yes."  
  
Elena stood and dusted off her dress. "Good, now where are we?" She felt the sun rising, and glanced behind her at a huge sign that loomed like a giant in the gray sand.  
  
"WELCOME TO BROOKLYN, AMERICA. LAND OF THE FREE."  
  
  


~*END PART ONE*~  


  



	3. Part 2

AN: AHH! I'm back! ...after many weeks of putting this off. ^-~ Anywies, I know this is short, but it's just to explain stuff. As this whole story is just to explain stuff...y'know... or something. Anywies, from last chapter:  
~No, we don't know who killed Mr. Wemmick  
~No, we don't know why the ship was sinking  
~Heehee, hopefully all questions will be answered in later parts. Okie? ::KI::  
  
  
  
Tale of a Gold-Tipped Cane  
Part Two  
by Ki Knotts  
  
~*Brooklyn, New York, America, 1890*~  
  
Jem Talon, or Chaser by anyone else's standards, frowned at the shadows creeping in the alleyway in front of him. Shifting his papers to his left arm and pushing his cap back on his forehead, he made to follow them.   
  
"Eh, Chaser!" Tooth, his selling partner, called from the corner. "What're you doing over there?" Hazel eyes, which were always smiling, glittered at him.   
  
"I've gotta check on something." the other replied and set his newspapers on a crate. "Watch these for me, would ya?" and ran off.  
  
Tooth cracked a huge grin and shook his head with amusement. "He's off for the chase."  
  
Chaser leaned into the alleyway and darted quickly across it. His eyes adjusted finally to the duskiness of the place, and he saw what he was looking for. A pair of pale feet (blackened on the bottoms by filthy streets) and a loaf of bread clambered over the fence at the end of the passage. The newsie gave a grim smile, obviously pleased with his discovery. Chaser pursued still, watching the same pale feet disappear onto a fire escape. He had him now.   
  
"Lemme go!" the pair of pale feet squealed indignantly as Chaser wrapped his hands around them. That is, the little boy who belonged to the pale feet squealed indignantly as Chaser grabbed him by the ankles and hauled him off the metal stairway. "I ain't done a thing!!" The pale hand (also blackened by filthy streets) fumbled for something at his belt.  
  
Chaser anticipated the attack and swerved as an alarming whistle sounded in his ear. "What the...?" A flash of gold came into his line of view, and Chaser's hand shot out off of one of the boy's ankles. Chaser frowned. "Why is a little sprite like you carrying a walking stick?"  
  
The boy was in obvious shock from Chaser's catch. "...I ain't a sprite. And this is a family hairdoolum."  
  
"Hairdoolum?" Chaser rolled his eyes and yanked the cane free of the boy's hands. "Heirloom, you mean?"  
  
This was received with a glare. The boy continued to his struggle against Chaser, kicking and lashing and, on several occasions, managing to mark the older boy.  
  
"Hold it, hold it!" Chaser yelled in aggravation and gripped the child by his wrists. "Did you steal the bread?"  
  
The boy's overcast eyes lingered on the loaf that had toppled to the ground next to them. Chaser could see the lie creeping into the child's lips. "Tell the truth," the newsie said in warning tones.  
  
"Yes." Chaser's clutch tautened. "But... but it's not for me."  
  
"What do you mean?" his long fingers loosened from the boy's arms.   
  
The boy's shoulders sank in Chaser's grasp, and a sigh escaped him. "I have... a friend. A sick friend...and I can't afford a doctor." the boy's eyes went soft. "It's getting worse."  
  
The elder let go. "All right. Let me see your friend."  
***  
  
Chaser continued after the boy through the depths of Brooklyn, far away from the newspaper distribution office, until they ended up by the docks in a little lean-to on the water.  
  
"In here." the child pointed at a few boards meant to serve as the door. "Be quiet."  
  
Shoving the planks of decayed wood in, Chaser took a slow breath and peeked inside. The air was thick with salt and rot, and it was cold. Darkness swamped him. His heel pivoted as he turned to face the boy again with an unspoken question.   
  
"By the window." the boy replied, not looking at him.   
  
With a nod, Chaser approached the single white light in the shack. And he saw the creature.  
  
On a white blanket thrown carelessly over a mound of hay lay a young girl, half-curled against the wall. "She's so pale," Chaser murmured more to himself, bending to touch one porcelain cheek. The ginger color of her hair made her look aflame. She mumbled a slow word, and the boy stepped out of the doorway.   
  
"I'm here, El. By the door."  
  
Her bottle-green eyes opened in small slits and pierced Chaser. He drew back in surprise. "Who're you?" she said to the newsie in a muzzy voice.   
  
Chaser stared down at her, the tiny body of white and red and a grimy, frayed dress of brownish lavender. "I'm Chaser." he cast a glance to the boy. "I want to help."  
  
Through dry lips, she whispered again. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Chaser." she extended her arm slowly out to him, and he took it and shook her hand. "I'm Elena. Are you a friend?"  
  
"I am now." Chaser held his breath. Where could he take these two to make sure they wouldn't return to the streets?  
  
The boy stepped forward next to Chaser. "What do you mean, you want to help?"  
  
"You two will be newsies. Like me."  
***  
  
"He just ran off?"  
  
Tooth nodded with a half-smile. "Yup, Just off and chased his tail."  
  
Trying not to crack a grin, Rogue took a steadying breath and leapt from his bunk. "And you don't know anything else?"  
  
"Don't worry about him, Rogue. He's a big boy now." The reddish hair of Fly shook. "I'm sure he'll be here any minute."  
  
The door to the bunkroom opened and Leaf, the youngest newsie in Brooklyn at age 12, peeked in. "Chaser's back."  
  
Fly gave Rogue an I-told-you-so look.  
  
"But you might wanna come down here." Leaf added. "He's brought us more presents."  
***  
  
The boy stared around him at the wealth of the Brooklyn lodging house parlor. The walls looked like they were cherry, even if they were really just the cheapest pine one could find in New York. He reached up to brush his fingers across the walls but jerked back as a snore came from the couch.  
  
Chaser shifted under the girl, his arms still keeping her from toppling to the floor. Both were sound asleep, making little murmurs as they dreamed. The boy grinned broadly. This is the only time El looks little, the boy mused silently with a laugh. He turned back to the parlor.  
  
A statue was in the corner of the room, and the boy frowned, going to investigate it. "Rogue, first newsboy of Brooklyn" read an inscription at the foot of the statue of a young boy who gripped a stack of newspapers. This boy, Rogue, looked forward in set determination.   
  
"Chaser? You in here, mate?" a voice called from the stairway.  
  
The young man started awake, arms shooting out to make sure the girl had not been disturbed. "In the parlor." he called groggily.   
  
The boy turned from the statue to see a face grinning like a cat from around the corner of doorframe. The face was smooth and white, like the color of milk, and the eyes were hazel. "Heya, kid, you admiring the rock?"  
  
"Where's Rogue? I need to talk to him." Chaser yawned.  
  
Another face appeared, this one with a body. "Well, come on into the parlor and we'll start talkin'."   
  
"See, I found these two kids..." Chaser began, lifting the girl and letting her drape over his shoulder.  
  
"Hey, hey!" the boy ran at Chaser angrily, ready to protest. "She's a girl, not a potato sack!"  
  
Silent, Tooth shook his head in mirth.   
  
"Whoa, there, pup." Rogue dragged the boy into the lobby with a patriarchal shove. "Sit."  
  
Fly was on the stairs, and he grinned as the boy took an obeying seat on the first wooden step. "What's your name, kid?"  
  
"Conlon." the boy grimaced. "An' get El off your shoulder!" to Chaser.   
  
Removing the small burden from him, Chaser set her next to the boy, Conlon. "How old are you?"  
  
"Just turned eight" was the reply as the boy allowed the girl to lean groggily onto him. He put a thin, pale arm around her and watched her protectively.  
  
"He reminds me of a cocker spaniel. All territory and gruff." Fly announced from the landing. "And I take it these two'll be in line at the gates tomorrow morning?"  
  
Chaser, Fly, and Tooth all looked expectantly to Rogue, who groaned with a sweep of his hand through black locks.  
  
"They aren't puppies, boys."  
  
Tooth, simpering, slammed a hand down on Conlon's shoulder. "This one is. A regular ole' cocker spaniel."  
  
In their bantering, the lobby door had opened and a middle-aged man had crept in, hearing Tooth. "I had a cocker spaniel once. Mean little bugger, but his name was Spot."  
  
The boy's arms tightened, and his white fingers curled into fists. "I ain't a dog!"  
  
Rogue exchanged a glance (albeit an amused one) with Fly and approached the older man. "'Eya, Webster, we've got some new boarders."   
  
Webster smiled under his thick, black mustache. "Well, well. What are the names?"  
  
Conlon pointed to the girl. "El Wemmick, and Spot Conlon."   
  


~*END PART TWO*~


End file.
